When Stan met Rick
by finmagik
Summary: Boston 1974: Ex-boxer, salesman and occasional thief Stan Pines is down on his luck, when he sees a skinny scientist, Rick Sanchez start a bar fight, and finish it with fire. And for the first time in a long time, Stanford Pines laughs. Then runs, because the cops are coming and they might have warrant out for him.
1. Chapter 1

~1974 Boston~

The bar was a dive, the plaster was cracked on the wall, the furniture was patched with duct tape and there was a haze of cigarette smoke and it stunk of stale beer and cigarettes. Stan was only here because Loretta the bartender was letting him stay at her place, above the bar, while her husband was on his tour of duty He also had no money and no job. Boxing was out, he'd thrown so many fights he'd been blacklisted. He'd picked the pocket of a plain clothes cop, and there was a warrant for him. And no one would hire him, no references, because the last three jobs he'd had… well not all the money made it in the till and they'd found out somehow.

Worse, his sanctimonious twin brother refused to help him out. So a lumpy couch (and sometimes the bed) in a crummy apartment was all he had. It wasn't so bad, a lie he told himself so many times, but Loretta thought he was funny and let him have free drinks. Loretta wasn't much to look at, bleach blonde hair, heavy make up, spotty skin, a tattoo of a rose above her right breast, and she didn't have all her teeth-But she tolerated him and her body was warm.

Stan had almost convinced Loretta to let him have just a shot-that's not much— of scotch, when there was a commotion in the bar. This tall skinny fellow in a lab coat with the wildest brown hair who had been putting it away all night, staggered from his seat and crashed into a huge guy who looked like a cross between a bulldog and a warthog. Stan swiveled on his stool prepared to watch the fight.

"Hey! You made me spill my drink, asshole!" the wartdog wartdog takes his ham sized fist and smashs into the skinny-guy's face. The skinny guy reels, almost falls, but re-balances blood trickling from his lips. He began laughing, a mad cackling laugh. This was getting good, the smart money had been on wartdog but anyone who laughed like that had some crazy up his sleeve and Stan had to see that. The wartdog charges the skinny guy who takes out something that looked like a very small silvery gun from his lab coat, the gun sparked and the other man's shirt is on fire. The skinny guy high tails it.

It was the funniest thing Stan had seen all night! The big man with with the flaming shirt flailed around screaming for a few seconds until someone grabbed a glass of something from a table and poured it on the guy. It was some kind of cocktail. Stan thought he'd bust a gut! It just made the fire worse! Stan couldn't stop laughing. Then he noticed Loretta on the phone. The cops would be here, and they had a warrant out for him, so Stan got the heck out of there. The sirens were already blaring when he stopped to catch his breath in an alley nearby.

The skinny guy was there pissing against a wall, calm as a cucumber. He shook the last drops off, zipped up, then looked at Stan with a strange bug-eyed stare.

"Hey," Stan said. "I saw what you did back there, it made my night!"

"S-s-so," The skinny guy stuttered. "You like random acts of violence?"

"Well funny ones," Stan said and put out his hand. "I'm Stan Pines by the way."

The skinny guy didn't offer his hand. "You know I just finished h-h-holding my dick…. you m-might want to re-think that."

"Uh," Stan withdrew his hand. "Right. What's your name?"

"Rick Sanchez," said the other man. "It certainly puts a dent in my evening, Punching Pines."

Stan startled at his old boxing name. "How'd you know that?"

Rick took a flask out of his lab coat and took a swig. "I saw you fight in Detroit, you know back when you actually tried to win."

"There's better money in losing fights," Stan said with a laugh.

"Besides a white jewish, boxer? I bet managers we're just i-i-itching to promote the great kosher hope." Rick added sarcasm dripping from his voice. " 'Punching Pines, the Hebrew Sledge Hammer', t-t-that was on your posters right?"

For a moment Stan was angry, ready to knock the lights out of this sarcastic long-hair, but of course he was right. The anger faded as quickly as it came, he crumpled and looked at Rick again.

"You got balls, talking to me like that," Stan said. "But you're right. I never had a chance, I don't even keep kosher."

"I-I-I know, I saw the fight in Detroit." Rick commented.

Stan remembered the fight, that riotous hateful crowd, the slurs and spit. The guy he was fighting 'Royal' Leroy Washington wasn't a bad guy, they'd worked out in the same gym and sometimes got drinks. But in the ring it was different. The name of the game was be hit and hit back, after all. The more ground he gained, the angrier the crowd became. To them Stan was every slum lord and pawnbroker, Leroy was them, the poor oppressed black boy. If he'd won that fight, he might have taken a purse but he'd be dead by the end of the night. So he swallowed his pride, ignored his trainer and took a fall.

"What was that thing you used back there, a lighter?" Stan asked.

"No, something I I-i-invented. It wasn't supposed to do that," Rick said. "I need to make some changes."

"So you a student at one of the colleges, Rick?" Stan asked again.

"N-n-no, I w-w-work there," Rick said. "B-but less chitchat Punchy, we c-c-can't go back to that bar and we need to get f-f-fucked up."

"We? Look I like to party, but I ain't got that kinda money," Stan said. "You're on you're own."

Stan began to walk away, maybe the cops would leave soon and he could go back to Loretta's lumpy couch.

"I do." Rick said. "And I'll-I'll pay for your drinks, Stan"

Stan turned around and smiled. "Now that's what I like to hear."

So began the long debased night. Stan was far from innocent but he had a weird feeling Rick was attempting to corrupt him in some way. So? Let him. They had a few rounds at one bar, did a few shots, moving on to another where they started again. Stan could carouse with the best of them but Rick just wouldn't stop, beers, shots and some cocktails. Rick kept up a stream of babble to Stan about anything and everything, stuttering and mumbling. At first it was fascinating and refreshing, but as his mind got hazier Stan found himself nodding along not paying attention.

At around 1:00 am in the morning Rick seemed to have settled down. They were in, what was it? The Strangled Bishop? Stan couldn't be sure, then Rick smiled at him. "Stan give me a sec- I gotta gotta make an announcement."

Rick got to his feet.

"No- No… I don't think you wanna do this," Stan began.

Rick stood on the bar cleared his throat and yelled: "YOU ALL THINK YOU'RE SO GREAT! I'M S-S-SMARTER THAN ALL OF YOU! YOU'RE ALL ANTS COMPARED TO ME! MERE ANTS! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE! THERE IS NO GOD! G-G-GOODNIGHT!"

It made a weird sorta sense to Stan.

But the bar went silent and Stan felt a hand on the back of his neck, a very large man was glaring at them.

"You two, outta here, now," The man said.

That's when Rick kicked the bouncer in the head.

"Come on Palooka! Fuck him up!" Rick shouted.

Stan grinned, why the fuck not? Sure the guy was big, but there were two of them and didn't he used to hit people for a living. He charged the bouncer, it felt amazing to be able to hit someone again. The rest of the bar joined in, fists, feet, tables and chairs flying. It went to hell, a delicious bloody hell where he was one of the chief demons.

They were cackling, bloody and bruised when finally the door slammed behind them. Stan wiped the blood from his lips.

"I like you Rick, you're crazy," Stan said with a laugh.

"Y-y-you don't know the half of it," Rick smirked. "My place is nearby, I've got a six pack in the fridge and some grass, you wanna hang out there?"

There was nothing better to do, why not.

Rick's place turned out to be an old dockside thirds of it were still warehouse and the rest was taken up by gadgets, half finished inventions and a an elaborate chemistry rig. It reminded Stan of his brother's side of the room back when they were kids. Rick had set up some rooms with boards and sheets on strings in the far left corner as makeshift living quarters. Nearby, up a rickety set of stairs was the bathroom and a bedroom in what was once apparently the office for the warehouse. There was a faint orange light of a floor lamp coming from the far left corner where a battered green couch stood beside the floor lamp. There was an old tv and a small record player, with the records in milk crates nearby. A makeshift coffee table, of a board on a milk crate, was in front of couch. Also lots and lots of empty bottles and cans.

"_Mi casa es su casa,"_ Rick said as he sidestepped around the tv.

Stan flopped down on the couch and muttered: "_Gracias."_

Rick was in another part of the 'house' set up and called: "_Hablas espanol?"_

It had been four years since he was in San Juan, trying to hawk his brother's 'miracle' vacuums.

"_Cum se cum sa,_" Stan said, waving his hand back and forth. "I'm a bit rusty. Mostly It's just sales patter and askin' where the john is."

"I-I-it was all I was allowed to speak for the first four years of my life" Rick said reappearing from behind a sheet with two bottles of beers in one hand and a glass pipe in his other. "I learned English from the tv, if I spoke at home my Dad would beat me, if I spoke Spanish at school the other kids would beat me. Fucking damned if I do, damned if I don't, am I r-r-right, Stan?"

"Yeah I guess," Stan said with a smile. "My Granny liked adding all this…. Yiddish around us. She did it to mess with people."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Not my Dad, he was dumb as a brick, didn't know much English and he didn't want us talking shit about him in it."

He handed Stan one of the beers, sat down on the couch pulled out a lighter and lit up the bowl of the marijuana pipe. It glowed red as he inhaled deeply.

"Did you?" Stan said opening his beer and taking sip.

Rick finished his hit and handed the weed pipe to Stan.

"F-f-fuck no! He'd smack three kinds of hell out of us, if thought he heard any s-s-sass," Rick replied with a cough.

Stan inhaled deeply on the pipe, it hit like a heavyweight. He felt an overwhelming floaty bliss and almost laughed, remembering something Rick had said: "Us?"

"Me and my sister," Rick said, he seemed to hunch up when he said it. "My Mom for that matter too. But I don't want to talk about this sad crap."

"Yeah," Stan said taking a sip from the beer. "To much of that."

Rick took another drag on the pipe and passed it back to Stan. "You're turn, Punchy."

The booze and weed were combining to make him feel very sleepy and things were starting to get hazy. He took the second hit on the pipe. He was way too stoned and drunk. They talked, drank more beer and smoked for a while.

"I want some music," Rick said jumping up. "Lemme put on some tunes, Stan. Is that okay?"

"Sure, fine." If Rick had said that the world was ending and there was no way to escape it he would have been fine at that point.

He watched Rick grab an album from one of the milk crates and put it on the record player with the care of the very intoxicated, gently setting the needle on the record and turning on the machine.

Stan heard the strains of guitar and the odd monotone voice of Lou Reed singing (well sort of singing) about walking on the wild side. He nodded his head to the beat, and smiled in a dopey way.

Rick was very close next to him. That was cool, so the guy had no real concept of personal space, it was his place. Then he felt Rick's hand on his thigh.

He squirmed and stared. "Uhh, what are you doing?"

Rick was closer than he thought, stroking his thigh. It felt weird, sorta good and sorta…. well it was a guy touching him.

"Relax, Stan. You'll like this, trust me." Rick said.

"Rick I'm flattered but I really like girls, ya know." Stan replied hazily, he should reach down and remove Rick's hand, he should punch the skinny bastard. But he didn't want to, that hand knew what it was doing.

"So do I," Rick said. "This isn't a marriage proposal Stan, it's called loosening up and having some fun. You don't mind it, right?"

Stan thought while staring at the thin hand that was higher up on his thigh then he remembered. "No, I guess not."

"W-w-when was the last time you had your cock sucked Stan?" Rick asked. "I mean really sucked, by someone who knew what they were doing, mmm?"

"You know I got a girlfriend," Stan said, but the idea of getting a good blow job, not the lazy, sloppy, half way, thing Loretta did when she was too tired to fuck… Well… his dick certainly thought that was good idea.

"Her?" Rick made dismissive gesture. "A married bar hag, who just does it out-out of pity? You're worth more than that." Rick's hand reached over and began to stroke the growing bulge between Stan's legs. "C'mon Stan, walk on the wild side. You know you want to."

Stan grabbed Rick's hand, he meant to knock it away but instead he held it steady. The way it felt was electric, amazing, there was pleasure dancing through his nerves. No! He was straight, he liked women! He was a real man! He used to box for god's sake he wasn't… but he needed it. He sipped his beer and considered, finally answering, "Well… it's not like anyone is watching right? And it's just a blow job, Rick?" Stan said.

"Sure, sure," Said Rick. He was already unbuckling and unzipping Stan's pants and reaching into his boxers… and up it popped. Rick was leaning down his tongue flicking at the head, it made Stan shiver with pleasure. "You need this."

And then he took Stan's length entirely in his wet, hot mouth, it felt, it felt….

…..rapturous.

Rick did know what he was doing, between the hard tight suction, the flickering tongue touches, and his other hand massaging Stan's balls; it felt like he was flying. It was electricity washing throughout him, ecstasy bubbling through him, but concentrated there… there…

His hand tangled in Rick's already messy brown hair, he didn't make much noise but Rick took every grunt, every hitch of breath as incentive and worked harder. At one point Stan wondered if had to reciprocate, that would be a disaster, really. Then he felt the building of sensation in his groin that meant only one thing. He gave a strangled cry, thrust into the other man's throat and released a stream of hot come. Rick's wide eyes went wider for a second but then he took in stride and afterward spit the load into an empty bottle.

"That was— that was…"

"..the best bj you've ever had…?"

"….Yeah…"

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

"A bathhouse in New York."

"But you aren't….?"

"…Naw, too c-c-confining, I like both sides of the fence."

"Right, good because I'm not…"

"You just got your cock sucked by a guy, Stan it's a bit late in the game for denials."

He thought, his brain wasn't as quick as it usually was:

"…Yep. So what do you want?"

"To get b-b-baked and a handie." Rick said, Stan gave him an odd shocked look."You can do that, just jerk it like it's yours, Punchy."

So that was how he ended up very stoned, pretty drunk, and still quite horny with another man's penis in his hand. Rick made even less noise than Stan did during the act. Just a small half-groan half-sigh heralded a very messy ejaculation. Stan withdrew his hand like he'd been drenched with acid.

Rick simply smiled then leant over and kissed him on the forehead.

"You can wash up in the kitchen Punchy," Rick said with a belch.

Stan scurried away holding his hand out like it was leprous and rinsed it off in a plastic old work sink. When he returned Rick was sitting up but snoring. Stan curled up on the other end of the couch, put his head down and was asleep in an instant.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee, also a roiling stomach, and a headache that was sent from beelzebub himself. His mind was a tired jumble but he began to slowly put together what exactly had happened. He moaned, sat up and rubbed his head. He stunk of weed, and he heard the crackle of a record left playing after the grooves had run out. It all was coming back to him now, where he was, the whole evening, and his strange companion in these misadventures.

Then it hit him, what they'd done, and he felt odd. He didn't mind gay guys, he just never saw himself as one of them. Maybe it was just one those things that happened when you got drunk, like making out with your cousin or deciding that jumping out a closed plate glass window naked was an excellent idea.

Stan got to his feet and the world did a loop-de-loop. The nausea overtook him, he made a dash for the sink and promptly vomited.

Rick was sitting in the kitchen area, nonchalantly eating some breakfast at a slightly off-balance blue formica kitchen table.

"N-nice one Punchy," Rick said sarcastically. "I saved you some breakfast. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and c-c-coffee. "

Stan nodded and took a look around, golden late morning light was streaming through a high window in the warehouse's back wall. He noticed the coffee percolator on the table, a home- constructed up hot plate on the floor with a cast iron pan, bacon and scrambled eggs sizzling away. Also there was a large upright freezer, humming away.

Stan rubbed his head again. "Right, thanks. About last night…"

"Y-yeah, yeah you're not gay, well I'm not either." Rick gave a sigh. "S-s-sometimes i just need a buddy to get shit-faced with. Now eat up, a big breakfast and some coffee will get rid of that hangover."

Rick took a pull on his flask.

Stan's stomach shuddered just thinking of booze.

"How come you're so awake and happy about it?" Stan asked. "Some science stuff?"

"No," Rick said. "Irish coffee, bacon, and a few lines of coke. Clears the cobwebs, Stan,"

He pointed to his head and gave a slight sniff. "You slept waaay too long, I was up hours ago. You gotta g-g-get moving Stan, you gotta get moving."

"Urgh," Stan closed his eyes. "Just let me get some coffee in me, then we'll talk."

He drank the coffee black in a white chipped mug that had written on it: 'UNITED NATIONS INTELLIGENCE TASK-FORCE, LONDON, ENGLAND.'

The plates were styrofoam. Despite his seesawing stomach and the far too bright sunlight, Stan found he had an appetite, the bacon and eggs hit the spot. As he ate, Rick poured more cocaine on the table and began to cut lines. Rick did two lines, zip-zip the powder was up his nose. He grunted, whooped, and shook his head.

"Want some?" Rick offered, sniffling.

"I like to keep the hard drugs for the evening." Stan quipped side eyeing Rick.

Rick did more lines and then gave Stan a bug-eyed glare.

"S-s-suit yourself, Punchy. I got things to do, people to see ya know I-I-I can't be entertaining rough trade, all the time. Eat and get going. I have to be at Harvard soon, doing very important research, they need me." Rick spoke at a brisk pace.

He got to his feet.

"Right, well I know when I'm not wanted." Stan shoveled the food into his mouth washed it down with the scalding coffee. "We had some fun though, see ya again?"

He held out his hand for a handshake or high five.

"Yeah, s-s-sure sure,' Rick said with a jittery impatience.

He was about to take Stan's hand in his own when Stan faltered and bumped into him, almost falling to the floor. Rick groaned and offered a hand to steady him.

"Heh-heh, whoops sorry! I guess I'm still a bit dizzy," Stan said with a bashful smile as he took Rick's hand getting to his feet.

"Y-Yeah," Rick belched and rolled his eyes.

Stan took a step forward smiling, he'd grabbed so much during the confusion, easy as— then he felt Rick's nails digging into his hand, and his wrist was jerked and twisted at painful angle.

"OW! What the hell?!" Stan complained, his wrist still held in the pincher like grip.

The pain made him really stumble, and fall to one knee.

"Give it back Stan," Rick sighed.

"What are you—ow! Talking about?!" Stan yelped at a new feeling of pain and pressure.

"My wallet, lighter and whatever e-e-else you tried to steal from my lab coat," Rick said, giving Stan's wrist another twist. "And all the money."

"OW! Geez, fine." Stan cried. He removed Rick's wallet from his jeans, the lighter, a small metal box with lights, and a glowing yellow shard of crystal, spilling them all on the floor. "There! Happy!?"

Rick released Stan's wrist, scooped up the items on the floor and checked his wallet for cash.

Stan rubbed his sore, red, wrist and glowered at Rick.

"Yeah," Rick said. "See you soon, P-P-Palooka."

"Not likely," Stan growled as he left the warehouse.

He considered coming back when Rick wasn't around, who knew how much money all that science-y junk was, the copper alone would be be worth a mint! However, the skinny bastard must have the place booby trapped.

Eventually Stan made it back to Loretta's and the bar. The place looked even shabbier in the daytime, the barflies uglier, but the ugliest thing in that bar was Loretta's face when she saw him. Looking at someone like that should be considered a war crime.

"Where the hell did you go last night?!" She yelled at him, coming out from behind the bar and getting inches from his face.

"None of your beeswax," He grunted trying to step around her.

She wouldn't let him, she stepped with him.

"No! Where the fuck did you go Stan? Why the fuck did you leave me with this place in chaos?!" She shrieked.

He backed up a step. "Why the hell should I tell you?! It's not like we're married or anything." He snarled.

"Because Stan," She fumed. "I let your broke ass stay here, rent free, because I thought you'd provide some muscle when things got hairy."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Really? I thought it was because you needed a screw while you're husband wasn't here."

She turned red but she backed away, and crossed her arms over her chest. "You can fuck off, Stan, I let you stay with me outta charity and you chicken out when I need you. So you can get the fuck outta here!"

"What?" Stan was blindsided. "Loretta, what are you saying?"

"Go upstairs, take your shit and leave." Loretta snapped. "Now!"

"-But Loretta honey…" Stan began.

"—Get your shit outta my place and go somewhere else." Loretta turned away from him.

He was flabbergasted, he couldn't, she didn't just— There had be something else.

"Baby! You don't mean that! I don't have no where else to go!" He pleaded.

"I don't care Stan! Go stay at the Y! Go to your Mother's! Go be a bum! Cuz' you ain't staying with me." She huffed.

He opened his mouth to beg her for some lenience, then he realized it was pointless, his shoulders slumped and he gave a sigh. "…fine I'll go."

Mournfully he trudged upstairs and began packing his few belongings into a cardboard box. His clothes, his toothbrush, hair cream, contact lenses, cigarettes, his jewelry, cologne and his gold plated brass knuckles. Also cleared up all the spare change and loose cash around the apartment. Loretta wouldn't see it and he needed it.

He put on his black leather jacket and trudged out the door.

He over heard one of the barflies say: "Good Riddance. You're better off without that Ikey bastard."

He saw red at the slur. He turned, and punched the old drunk right in the jaw and sent him flying off his stool. Then Stan turned back and walked out of the bar.

He had no where to go, he couldn't live with his Mom she was in Boca and he didn't have the money for the bus ticket. His brother probably hated him for that shit he pulled to get out of the draft. As for the YMCA they were full up last time he checked. So… so… where could he go?

Well of course, where he'd spent the morning, Rick's warehouse. He walked to the warehouse on the docks and pressed a small buzzer on the door. No response, he tried again. Then he sat down and waited, huddling inside his leather jacket, knees to his chest. He smoked a few cigarettes and waited.

The sun was setting when a tall, skinny figure staggered down the street. Rick shook his head and raised his unibrow at Stan.

"L-Look what the cat dragged in," Rick said.

"I got no where else to go," Stan sighed. "Look you don't know me, but I promise I won't rip you off. I'll do cleaning, I'll even pay the rent on this joint when I get a job."

Rick sighed. "Stop lying Palooka, there is no reason why I-I should let you stay with me."

"Right," Stan got to his feet. "I'll go then."

"Hey! Hey! I wasn't saying you can't stay with me," Rick interjected. "You can, just a few rules."

Rick fumbled for his keys in his lab coat.

Stan grinned. "Great! Thanks! You won't regret it!"

Rick laughed. "You haven't even heard the rules yet Punchy."

"Yeah, yeah… lay em on me." Stan said.

Rick pulled out his flask took a long pull off it, belched and then spoke:

"**Rule one:** If I'm working you leave me alone unless I say I need help.

**Rule two:** When I need help, you have to help me no excuses, no matter what.

**Rule three:** When I want to party with you, we party, right, you can't chicken out or leave me hanging.

**Rule four**: We might keep f-f-fooling around, if we do, don't get clingy or jealous if I want to fuck someone else. W-w-we're not O-Oscar Wilde and Bosie.

**Rule five**: When I need a human test subject, you are that test subject.

**Rule six:** No stealing from me again or you are out on your ass. "

Rick then offered the flask to Stan. Grabbing the flask he gulped it down, it was a rough, cheap, burning and bitter whiskey. It made him feel slightly light headed.

"Sure, okay. Sound great, I agree." Stan said quickly.

"Do you even understand what this means, Stan?" Rick said.

"Uhhh… sure." Stan nodded.

He had heard the rules, but they didn't sound that bad, and he was sure he could do that stuff, right? Besides, Rick might be too high or drunk to know if he didn't.

Rick took out his keys and opened the door to the warehouse:

"Right then, welcome home Stan."

And without a moment's hesitation Stanford Pines stepped into the warehouse with his new roommate Rick Sanchez. Feeling a touch on his shoulder, he turned. Rick grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep kiss, then just as quickly released him. Stan blinked, stunned, a bit turned on and shook his head staring at Rick.

"What was that?" Stan asked.

"Oh I was just fucking with you." Rick said. "Stan, this is start of the beautiful friendship."

"Uhhh… sure… right." Stan said picking up his box and stepping inside. He had a odd feeling about this but he pushed it down. Rick was letting him stay here, despite being a skinny freak, and that was cool, also maybe a small part of him wanted to kiss Rick again.


	3. Chapter 3

Most of the time living with Rick was boring. Rick would get up early, drink tons of coffee or do cocaine, and work on his inventions, sometimes he'd ask Stan to hand him a tool or a soldering iron. Then he'd go off to do whatever mysterious research he was working on at Harvard, he was pretty tight-lipped about it. Sometimes they'd go out at night, do a bar crawl, get blottoed, fight someone, usually end up making out on the couch, so drunk that neither could get it up for love or money. Occasionally it wasn't booze, but something else: smoking weed till they couldn't move or doing line after line of blow until both of them couldn't stop twitching,or they'd play grab ass and dry hump each other for hours. Rick maintained his endless supply of drugs by making and selling large amounts of LSD. He kept it in the standing freezer and would trade it or sell it to several people: Chad a smelly hippie, Wentworth a stylish black man, and Nancy a weird chick who wore a safety pin through her nose and spiked her hair. There were others but those three were regular buyers.

Stan spent his days listening to records, watching the black & white tv, shadow boxing, and reading the local want ads. Sometimes he'd practice coin tricks, lazily passing a quarter over and under his knuckles or hang out with Wentworth or Nancy. He liked them, hated Chad who reminded him too much of Thistle Downe, but Wentworth was beyond cool and was teaching him how to run a three card monte game. Nancy was amusingly cynical and refreshingly full of rage, they'd take turns playing five finger fillet and make small bets on when and if they'd skewer a finger. But most of the time life was tedious as hell.

He wondered if Rick's colleagues at Harvard knew about this, or cared. Usually when Rick got back he'd either fling himself into making his inventions or grab a beer, sit down on the couch with Stan and watch tv. Sometimes he'd come back babbling, wide-eyed and staggering. When this happened a terse lady with red hair called Nina would lead Rick to the door and tell Stan to keep an eye on him. At these times it looked to Stan like Rick was trippin' balls, but no… it had to be something else... because why would he drop acid at Harvard? During these times Rick would talk in a mixture of Spanish and English, also he let slip the names of his colleagues: one was 'Bishop', one was called 'Bell.' He'd say things like:

'Walter keeps calling me Ricarlo, I've told him that's NOT my name anymore, why the fuck won't he listen?'

'_Puedo sentir mi tercera apertura de los ojos !Se quema , como el ácido !'_

'It's all so clear! So clear! Reality is like wet paper and we're so close to trans- dimensional penetration.'

'They were wrong… _rompiendo la barrera de la velocidad de la luz es tan posible , estoy tan cerca !… _If I could just make the right fuel for it!'

'I can see all your veins Stan, they're so beautiful and pulsing!'

'_El asistente de pingüino está tratando de matarme ! GET IT LEJOS ! El suelo está derritiendo! '_

'Wow, so many c-c-colors. So many… but I still can't see them all.'

'_No confíe en el triángulo que él sólo habla mentiras ! La suya no es Bill , que es un heraldo de los dioses mayores ! '_

'Bell looks like Spock from Star Trek…it's so funny! I'm doing science with SPOCK, STAN!'

Most of the time, Stan would just let him talk nonsense. Stan would lay Rick on the bed and watch him, making sure the skinny knucklehead didn't hurt himself.

But this day was different, however it started normally enough. Stan went outside and collected the mail, he whistled to himself as he looked through the stack of various bills, junk mail -a coupon book- Stan tucked that in his pants pocket, and a letter from San Quentin State prison addressed to a Ricarlo Sanchez. He stopped whistling and walking.

"W-what's going on Punchy?" Rick asked.

"Why do you have a letter from a prison?" Stan asked.'

"Give it to me!" Rick said and grabbed at it.

Rick lunged and grabbed the mail from Stan's hands. He opened it and read it standing up. Then he broke into a wide smile, laughed, whooped, and began doing a dance that was part frug, part twist and part obscene pelvis thrusting.

When he grabbed Stan and began grinding on him, Stan pushed him away.

"Whoa! What's got you in such a good mood?"

Rick pirouetted close and handed Stan the letter.

Stan read:

SAN QUENTIN STATE PRISON

MAY 4TH, 1974

DEAR MR SANCHEZ,

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR FATHER (EMIL R. SANCHEZ) PASSED AWAY TODAY FROM CIRRHOSIS OF THE LIVER.

IF YOU'D LIKE TO ARRANGE BURIAL OF HIS REMAINS PLEASE CONTACT THE CALIFORNIA DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS.

HIS EFFECTS CAN BE PICKED UP AT….

Stan stopped reading. He thought about his own father's death from cancer and a wave of sadness washed over him.

"Geez Rick I'm sorr-"

Rick was still dancing, doing a little boogie, throwing in a few disco moves….

"—What the fuck is wrong with you!" Stan finished.

Rick grabbed Stan's shoulders. "He was an abusive, drunken, asshole, I'm celebrating!"

Rick kissed him firmly on the lips.

"Gaah!" Stan shook himself. "So you didn't get along, it doesn't mean you have to—"

Rick stopped dancing and stared at Stan. "You know why he was in prison? He killed my Mom, smashed her skull in with a hammer over not getting beer fast enough. When I say he was an a-a-asshole, he was."

"Fuck!" Stan's jaw dropped open. "That's really sick."

"Tell me about it, I had to live with them." Rick said. "…Well until I was fourteen, g-got my GED and one of my inventions got the attention of the government and I got a full scholarship to MIT. I was outta there."

Stan blinked. "Fourteen? That's really—"

Rick glared. "I-I- been taking care of myself since I was seven. Mom was a u-useless sheep, Dad was an asshole and my older sister, Cassandra, went to live with our Aunt Esme in New Mexico when she was 12."

"Why didn't you go with her?" asked Stan.

"Aunt Esme lived in the weirdest fucking town there was, Night Vale, that place gave me the creeps when we'd visit." said Rick.

"So what about your Dad's body?" asked Stan

"They can do whatever the fuck they want with it," Rick replied.

Stan dropped the subject, Rick finished his breakfast and went off to his research at Harvard. It was a pretty uneventful day for Stan, until the evening when the intercom buzzed.

Stan pressed the button. "Yeah?"

"It's Nina, I've got Rick" The terse voice said on the end of line.

It was earlier than usual. "Right, I'll be there."

Stan went to the door and opened it. Nina was holding Rick by the shoulder and glaring at Stan. Rick was sagging, babbling incoherently, drooling, a dazed look in his eyes.

"He had an adverse reaction to the latest batch, Dr. Bell thought it best to have him leave, it was disturbing Dr. Bishop." Nina said calmly.

"Right," Stan took Rick's hand and lead him over the threshold. "I'll put him to bed."

"Watch him carefully," Nina advised. "He's…in a bad emotional state. Did anything adversely affect his mood before he came to us?"

"Uhhh, he got some news about his Dad… but Rick was happy about it." Stan said.

"Ah," Nina shook her head. "Goodnight."

So Stan bundled Rick up the shaky stairs to the bedroom, and laid him down. As Stan went to sit on a nearby chair, Rick grabbed his shoulders.

"N-n-no don't leave… hold me." Rick's hands were shaky but they held him firmly.

Stan sighed, but he kicked off his shoes and laid next to Rick, wrapping his arms around the thin man. Throughout the night he held Rick as the other man, cried, babbled, and twitched. He stroked his back to calm him down. Rick shouted in his strange mixture of Spanish and English.

Over the night Rick spat out fragments in between the yelps, moans and sobs:

"_Papa vendría en la noche y la violación de Casandra , que por lo general se hizo el dormido , una noche trató de detener …." _

"Papa broke my arm he broke my arm! It hurt so bad…"

"_Grité y grité . Mamá entró, pensé que iba a dejar a papá , pensé que estaría tan molesta que tomamos y lo dejamos . No, ella me llevó a la sala de emergencias . Ella me hizo mentir sobre mi brazo fue a la quiebra ... ella no dejaría que papá , que era …"_

"_Ella se quedó ! Sin espinas , vaca piadosa !_

She let him hurt us and washed the blood from my sister's sheets without saying anything!"

"After that I'd just close my eyes... _sy fingir estar dormido cuando papá se coló en la habitación_

_Así que cuando nos mudamos yo mi propio dormitorio, _

I got my own room and it was easier to pretend it didn't happen."

It was all spoken in a high, odd, faint, childish voice. As if Rick was reliving or regressing. From what Stan could piece together with his unpracticed Spanish, Rick's father had done something …something… horrible to his sister. When they were children Rick tried to stop him, but Rick's father broke his arm. Rick's mother didn't stop it, and In the end neither did Rick. All of this was spilled in the course of one night. Finally exhausted Rick fell asleep, and shortly after Stan did too.

Stan woke up in the morning still tired and feeling creaky as the stairs. Rick was already awake, standing up and stretching in the dawn light.

"Hey… Rick about last night…"

"It was a bad trip Stan," Rick said. "That's all it was."

Stan shrugged. "Yeah I guess so."


	4. Chapter 4

The stripper was jiggling her tits right in Stan's face. Rick had paid her extra to give Stan the 'up close and personal' treatment. Stan should have been in a better mood, he had a pretty half-naked woman gyrating very close to him with a nice rack. He only managed to just get a chubby. He sighed, gave her some of the money he'd been provided to tip with and waved her away. He heard a woman giggle at the other end of the club and turned his head. Rick had three strippers gathered around him, two on his lap and one sitting at a table, all laughing at some joke. A choking rage filled Stan, there was no explanation for it, he wanted to rip those women away from Rick and… and what?

They weren't together, besides he told himself, he liked girls. He was not really into Rick Sanchez, except when completely wasted. But he hated those girls on Rick's lap with a passion that was scary and confusing. Maybe it was because Rick was ugly: gawky, tall, with a unibrow and wild hair he never combed, yet girls all fell for him. Maybe what Stan needed was to be balls deep in some chick, maybe just being teased by a stripper wasn't enough. He knew he was attractive, he was still in pretty good shape. Okay, so he didn't have the rock hard stomach he did when he boxed… maybe he was little soft around the edges… but he was a cool guy, who knew how to please a girl. So why did Rick have all the luck and he didn't? Also why did he hate the girls for being close to Rick rather the reverse?

That night he left the strip club, pulled the collar up on his leather jacket and sullenly walked back to the warehouse.

Stan was watching a midnight movie on the tv when he heard the warehouse door slam. Rick marched up and stood in front the tv.

"W-WHAT the fuck STAN?!" He yelled. "We're supposed to party tonight why the f-f-fuck did you pussy out on me! You're NOT allow to puss out!"

"I just wasn't feeling it tonight," Stan grumbled. "Can't a guy catch a break?"

Rick strode over to Stan, bent over him and gripped by the lapels, Rick had an odd wiry strength that Stan wasn't expecting when Rick lifted Stan off his feet.

"No." Rick growled. "I told you the rules when you got here, you stay here because I let you. Now get off your ass, and let's have some fun."

Stan broke out of Rick's grip and turned away. "It ain't fair! You look like a nerd and yet all the skirts are swarming around you! It's no fun!"

"It's called charm Stan," Rick said. "I know how to talk to the ladies. You h-have problems. Look I'll do you a favor, tomorrow when we hit the town… I'll help you p-pick up a chick right?"

Stan turned back, they probably both needed to get laid real bad. He knew he did but he never was as smooth with the women as he'd like to be. "Yeah, thanks."

"Hey that's what f-f-friends are for, right Punchy?" Rick said.

"Yeah," Stan sighed.

"I'm going back out," Rick said. "Don't wait up."

"Okay," Stan said, trying to sound as if he didn't care.

The next morning Stan awoke to a virtually silent warehouse this meant it was one of the rare mornings that he'd woken up before Rick. Stan having slept in his boxers threw the blanket off his body, he stood up, stretching and scratching. The world was blurry, he'd put in his contacts after his shower, it would get clearer, but he could see enough to get around. He walked up the shaky staircase, heart in his throat, he hated that thing but it was the only way up to Rick's bedroom and beyond to the bathroom. He opened the door and found Rick passed out on the unmade bed, drooling in his sleep. Stan paused, took a pen off the nightstand and drew a dick on Rick's forehead or as close to one as he could without his contacts… Rick didn't stir. Stan chuckled quietly and moved into the bathroom. Rick bragged about how he'd done all the work for this whole room himself. Well Stan didn't think it was anything to write home about. The sink was one of those plastic laundromat tub ones, with a basic hanger on the wall with a mirror/medicine cabinet combo above it. The toilet wobbled and constantly gurgled in an odd way. As for the shower, well it was just a tiled corner of the room with a drain in the center where a set of pipes plus shower head were riveted to the far right wall. It would groan, shake, sputter and squeak when it was turned on to high or really on at all. He took off his boxers, itched his hairy chest… he considered his body; chest was okay, nice abs and a manly amount of body hair, he was starting to get a bit of pudge in the belly area, arms were pretty good, so were his legs and… well the bit between his legs was much better than average.

He turned the shower knob for hot, took a step back as he heard the hot water heater churn, thunk, and clunk below. The water would be boiling, reaching through the curtain of hot water he turned the other knob for cold. Now it would be too cold, he adjusted the hot knob… dipped a toe in… and yes it was perfect. He stepped into the stream of water. As he lathered up, he sang to himself, not loud enough to be heard over the shower really but it made him happy. The warm soapy water relaxed him, he considered masturbating… he needed it, though lately his hand had been his only romantic companion. That blow job was three weeks ago now, all they'd done since then had been dry humping and grab-ass when they were wasted.. which really was about as far as he wanted to go with Rick, right? Because neither one of them was gay and Stan was sure that despite Rick's skills in the blow job department… he, Stanford Pines would take any woman no matter how old over any guy even one he found attractive and Rick wasn't… well he wasn't conventionally attractive.

"Mornin' Palooka."

Stan leapt as he heard Rick's gravelly voice, near him. He turned, Rick was naked and standing in the shower. Stan found himself staring at the other man, Rick still had the pen drawing of a dick on his forehead, but his body was slim and angular it was easy to see his ribs and the jut of his hip bones. His skin was naturally tanned and smooth unlike Stan's, Rick also only had hair on his head and down by his groin, speaking of which Stan was acutely aware of Rick's dangling cock.

"What are you doing here?" Stan asked blinking.

"Showering with a friend to save water," Rick said sarcastically. "What do you THINK I'm doing?"

"Being a pervy drunk," Stan replied.

"Right, only I'm not that drunk," Rick moved very close to Stan. "…not yet…"

"Well, I need to be drunk for this…" Stan muttered, that was a lie, because of the warm tingly feeling in his groin, he knew he was starting to get an erection.

"S-s-so you like what you see?" Rick smirked. " You're a grower and show-er… nice."

Stan wanted to protest make up some lie but as he opened his mouth Rick slipped up next to him and silenced him with a kiss. Rick tasted like booze and vomit but his mouth was insistent and the feeling of his lips welcome. Stan felt the other man's long thin fingers wrap around his erection, it felt welcome and blissful. He let out a small moan, reaching out he slid his hand around the other man's cock. Rick let out a sigh of contentment as Stan felt Rick's cock grow and swell under his fingers. Rick's strokes were slow and languid at first, but then they got quick and forceful. Stan increased his pace with Ricks. They kissed like hungry beasts devouring each other. Then Rick whispered in Stan's ear:

"Fuck me."

Stan pulled away giving Rick a look of shock and confusion, he shook his head and walked out of the shower. grabbing a clean towel from a hook on the wall he dried himself. Rick was looking at him sullenly.

"Look, Rick foolin' around is one thing but …but fucking another man is not my cup of tea." Stan said. "Or being fucked by one either."

Rick took a step forward. "Whoa, whoa c'mon Palooka, you were enjoying yourself. Why not just lighten up and have some fun?"

"I'm not —not," Stan struggled with his mouth Rick and raised his unibrow and gave him a look of irritated disbelief. "—I only do that with ladies!"

"W-w-what's your hang up, Stan? A hole is just a hole…and I'm the one who'd take the pounding." Rick commented.

Rick turned off the shower and glided towards Stan. "We both need this…" He was getting closer and closer, hands up raised to touch Stan's shoulders.

Doubt trickled through Stan's mind, maybe Rick was right. He did find the skinny freak attractive, and it wasn't like Stan would be the one getting it up the ass. But a stronger, angrier inner voice interceded. No, this was too far! He couldn't cross that line and consider himself a 100% red blooded macho guy! And with that Stan fled the bathroom, ran down the stairs outside the bedroom and down to the couch.

At breakfast neither one said anything, Rick drank his coffee. Stan sat there playing five finger fillet with a dull chef's knife, stabbing the table hard over and over again he couldn't meet Rick's eyes.

"Stop that! It's getting on my last nerve!" Rick shouted.

Stan glared at him but put the knife down. "I'm not gonna stick my dick up your ass."

Rick rolled his eyes. "You don't have too, Stan."

"And I'm NOT letting you put your dick up my ass. I've been to the doctor's and if it's anything like that mess—" Stan started.

Rick gave a frustrated growl. "We both need a good screw. H-Handies, necking, and dry humping isn't e-e-enough for you or me, Punchy."

"So we hit the town tonight and pick up a floozy each, that'll solve our problems." Stan said.

Rick raised his unibrow. "Sure, if you say so."

Stan looked his best for that night: contacts in, hair slicked back with product, a dab of after-shave, gold chain around his neck, wide collared shirt with the buttons undone revealing the gold chain and very sexy chest hair, tight jeans with a gold buckled belt, and his trusty leather jacket. He'd be a lady killer tonight. Even Rick made a slight effort he wore a brown sueded leather jacket instead of a lab coat, didn't smell quite as much of chemicals as he usually did and maybe his hair looked like he had attempted to brush it. So they went out on the town, where there were lots of pretty ladies. Stan used his best pick up lines, all of them went bust. He shelled out money for drinks, they'd thank him for the drinks and talk to someone else! He lit cigarettes for them! He listened to women talk about their pets, hometowns and other crap, but it didn't get him any closer to getting them naked. However Rick, who still looked like a belligerent stick insect, was getting all sorts of attention. all he would do was sidle up to a chick, say something about her hair, and soon she'd be laughing at his jokes and touching his shoulder. Stan didn't like it, the women were all over Rick! Usually the girl would have some ditzy friend, and Rick would call Stan over. He and the friend would make awkward small talk while Rick was busy charming the other chick. Once in a while it seemed like the friend would be digging on him. But those girls weren't… well Stan didn't want them they weren't as pretty or had the wrong hair color or … just never Stan's type, really. His eyes would wander over to Rick…!

Rick laughing at something or making some remark his tousled dark hair and…. it was always him, why!? Stan didn't even think about it really, the guy should be such a nerd, but he wasn't! Then Rick would whisper something to the chick and the lady would look at both of them, shake her head or once slap the lady slapped Rick.

It was getting towards the end of the night. Stan had nearly given up hope, he was never gonna get laid! They had just walked into a bar called Connelly's, there was a cutie sitting at the bar, blonde, petite and curvy. Turning to look at them, she smiled and winked.

"Aw, here we go again," Stan sighed.

"She was looking at you Stan," Rick said. "Go get her."

"Really?"

Stan grinned as he ran a hand through his hair and swaggered up her.

"Hey you like what you see, doll?" He said.

"You bet I do, handsome!" She said with a laugh. "I'm Brenda."

She stuck out her hand. He took it gently. "Nice to meet you, Brenda. They call me Stan."

"Oooh you got such big hands!" She cooed.

She put her palm to his and his fingers dwarfed her petite digits.

"Heh, thanks." He said. "So what are you up tonight?"

"Me? I just wanna have some fun," She said smiling at him.

He took the stool beside her. She liked him! She was flirting! This was going well, and yet he looked over at Rick at the end of the bar. Rick nodded and mouthed: 'go for it.'

"You wanna have fun with me, then?" Stan asked.

She replied with a snorting laugh. "You read my mind Stan."

He told the corniest joke he could think of, Brenda laughed like he was a comedy star. During which she put a hand on his arm and gave a squeeze.

"You like?" He asked smiling.

"Oooh you got muscles!" She enthused. "I like it."

"Yeah," he said with air of nonchalance. "I used to box."

"Wow, thats so sexy," She said.

"Well I try to keep in shape," He said.

"Show me some moves Stan." She said.

He did a quick one-two punch in the air, away from her.

She squealed with delight. That was more like it! He looked over at Rick… who was smoking a cigarette at the other end of the bar.

Why did he care what Rick thought? He flirted with Brenda some more, soon he'd ask her to go home with him. Maybe Rick would let him use the bed? How would he explain that he lived in freakin' warehouse, would she even come with him?

"Hey," Rick had sidled over next to Brenda. "I see you got yourself a babe, Stan."

Brenda turned to Stan. "He a friend of yours?"

Stan gave a nervous glance at Rick. "Uhh, yeah."

Rick introduced himself laying on the charm. Brenda turned to him, rapt as Rick talked, laughing at his jokes. Anger and disappointment started bubbling inside of Stan, how dare he steal…

Then Rick asked; "You seem like a pretty cool chick, B-B-Brenda, I was wondering do you.. swing?"

She scrunched up her face. "What do you mean by swing?"

Rick looked at Stan, smirked and then whispered in Brenda's ear. She blushed and giggled. "What, you mean… both of you?"

Stan blinked, he hid his shock though, did Rick just ask the girl… for…?

"Yeah so you cool, honey? Rick asked.

She looked from Rick to Stan. "Yeah, I'm cool. Sounds fun!"

Rick ordered all of them another round. With the additional alcohol in his system Stan began to adjust to the idea of sharing a girl with Rick. If she wanted both of them, it could be a great time. They would take turns right? Stan glanced nervously at Rick, who simply smirked.

After the drink they took a cab back to the docks. Brenda was between them looping her arms around both their waists, her hands went lower and Stan jumped as she squeezed his ass.

He smiled and said: "Heh Heh, frisky, I like that."

Rick winked at him over her head. This was going to be sweet, she didn't even seem to mind when they entered the warehouse. She just looked around and commented: "Cool digs, guys! Now where's the bathroom? I have to pee."

Rick pointed up at the staircase: "G-go through the bedroom, you can't miss it."

. She tripped up the stairs with obviously eagerness, they followed.

Rick turned on the table lamp on the dresser. He shucked his jacket, shirt, pants, and briefs quickly. Stan followed suit, removing all his clothes with ease. Rick was standing on the other side of the double bed, smiling and itching his left side. Nothing special, but Stan felt the lust swell inside of him. A revelation hit him like a freight train; he didn't want to share this man, and he sure and as hell didn't want whats-her-name. He lunged over the bed and seized Rick by the face. He kissed him furiously and deeply. In an instant Rick had his arms around him, responding to the kiss with a zeal that Stan didn't expect. The feeling of Rick's skin against his, his hand tangling through Rick's messy hair, the scent of his cologne and sweat, it just increased his desire. He needed this man. He grabbed Rick by his slight waist and pulled him onto the bed. Rick's hands were wrapped around his hardening cock and his lips were against the skinny bastards' own. It was then that Brenda came out of the bathroom.

"Heehee looks like you two started without me… " She began, then as seconds ticked by. "Can I get a piece of that…?" As they ignored her and kept at it. "Fine! I know when I'm not wanted!"

She left, she was crying. Stan didn't care, he had Rick his arms hot and sweaty and his, just his for now. Rick didn't seem to care that she either.

"Fuck me," He whispered. "N-N-no backing out."

"I don't wanna back out," Stan murmured.

Now all he wanted was to take that thin body before him, slip into that ass and posses him. Rick was laid on his back, his cock erect, grinning up at him, spread out, eager, ready?

"Give me a minute, Punchy," Rick said. 'I need to get something. We can't just fuck like this."

"Why not?" Stan asked, he was hard and aching for the other man.

"Y-y-you're pretty big, I need to prepare." Rick said.

He rolled over and crawled towards his makeshift nightstand (two stacked milk crates, naturally). He reached in and pulled out a tube of K-Y. He squirted some out onto his fingers and rubbed it on his hole. He gave a relaxed sigh and rolled onto his stomach, then hunched his knees under him.

Stan hovered over him, waiting as Rick got into position. Stan tried thrusting into the other man, he heard Rick's breath hitch, then another sigh. He tried again and this time he slid into him easily, the other man gasped. He was so tight! So hot! It felt amazing. He started off gently, not wanting to hurt him, or worse end up at a hospital with an embarrassing story for the doctors to snicker about. Experimenting, he tried one hard thrust. He shoved his whole length into that tight pucker, Rick moaned.

"Is that good?" he asked, unsure about this whole setup, maybe he was doing it wrong.

"T-t-that's perfect, rough and fast just the way I like it. Also could you jerk me off while you fuck me?" Rick said.

He took his hand and wrapped it around the other man's member, starting off again, hard and fast, thrusting into that tightness, filling it and hearing the slight grunts and moans that indicated Rick's pleasure. It was triumphant, it was glorious, it was ecstasy and he was loving every second of it. His hand keeping pace with the thrusts, Rick would grind into him, and that bumped up the sensation even more. He groaned and gripped the other man's hips, the feeling was starting to crest… he didn't want to… he needed to keep going. He rubbed Rick's cock harder as his rhythm faltered, as the feeling grew overwhelming and he came. He remained hard for enough time to finish off Rick, who orgasmed thickly and messily. Then he pulled out and collapsed on the bed, Rick wiping himself down with a kleenex.

"…OH! You… That… I…" Stan wanted to say something but his heart was thudding and his body still pulsed with pleasure but words didn't come as the afterglow was still so strong. Rick curled up next to him, licking and sucking his own jizzum off Stan's fingers and hand.

Rick smiled. "I knew this was a good plan."

Stan puzzled over what that meant for a minute, before flinging his hairy arm over the scrawny freak's body and pulling him close. He ran his fingers over Rick's chest, counting the ribs he could feel. Rick snuggled close, pulling the blanket from under them and then over them. Soon they were both snoring, fast asleep beneath a cheap awful blanket and dirty sheets.


	5. Chapter 5

In the middle of the night Stan woke up, his eyes itched, he had left his contacts in and had fallen asleep. Opening his eyes he noticed that Rick was gone, and noises were coming from downstairs. He got up, put on his boxers and made his way down the creaking and shaky stairway, eyes still burning and itching, hand on the banister to keep himself steady. Downstairs he found the formica table had residue of tell-tale white powder, and the sound of the coffee percolator bubbling away. Stan removed his lenses, putting them in their case, and laid down on the couch. He could see the right hand corner in the warehouse from here. Rick had used black painted plywood boards and tin to make a darkroom, there was a swag of black fabric covering the entrance. Rick said he needed it to make LSD, so Stan left well enough alone. He didn't like LSD, not since '72, and it made Rick money. So he covered himself with a blanket, covered his eyes and went back to sleep. Rick was still buzzing away when Stan woke up in the morning. Rick had paused to drink a cup of coffee, with shaky hands. Stan looked at him over his cereal bowl.

"About last night—" Stan began.

Rick belched, added some booze to his coffee, then replied: "It was fun P-P-Punchy, that's all. Don't start falling in love with me or anything—_"

"—I'm not going to ya skinny jerk! That's what I was going to say." Stan said.

Rick blinked. "S-so what you're saying is were on the same page?"

"Yeah," Stan blinked and gave a chuckle. "That's about it, it's fun but I'm not going to- to-to …..do whatever queers do instead of getting married."

"T-T-Then you don't mind me bringing home tail, right Punchy?" Rick said.

"Nope," Stan lied. "Cuz my girl will be hotter."

They gave each other a side- eye, they laughed. Rick jokingly punched Stan on the upper-arm, Stan returned it a little harder, Rick punched him even harder, Stan nailed Rick in the arm. Then Rick lunged, tackling Stan, sending them rolling around the hard floor, wrestling half playfully and half in earnest. Stan could feel Rick's hard on pressing against his stomach, when he flipped the other man and got him in a half-nelson. Suddenly the inter-com buzzed loudly.

"It's Nancy— I'm here to buy drugss!" Said a familiar voice, in a sing-song tone.

It buzzed again.

"Hey, Stan-The-Man, Rick-The-Brain! It's Wentworth, open up!"

Stan released Rick from the half nelson, Rick coughed and they both got off the floor, dusting themselves off.

"Oh geez, both of them? This early?" Stan sighed.

"C-c-concert season S-stan, it's coming." Rick said. "At least Chad hasn't arrived yet."

"Yeah," Stan sighed again. "Thank fuck for small favors."

"What you got against him anyhow, Palooka?" Rick asked. As they walked towards the door.

Stan gave a shrug and glared at Rick. "I just don't like hippies, okay?"

He was not discussing Thistle Downe, Carla, his fear of sugar cubes or any thing that happened that summer of 1972. Rick didn't need to know.

Rick pulled open the door of the warehouse, Nancy O'Grady and Wentworth Robinson stepped in. The two drug dealers made quite a contrasting pair; Nancy short, angry, wearing heavy dark make up,with her oversized army jacket, men's undershirt, safety pin pierced nose and bright red spiked hair vs. tall and chill Wentworth with his afro, round sunglasses, green shirt and burnt orange pants. Stan always thought Nancy would be pretty if she dressed like a normal girl and didn't always look like she was about to murder someone.

"Hey doofuses," Nancy said with affection.

"Rick! Stan!" Wentworth said. "How's it hanging?"

"All's good in the neighborhood!" Rick responded to Wentworth before Stand could.

Rick and Wentworth did an elaborate high five/handshake that seemed to take at least two minutes, as Stan closed the door.

Nancy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Enough secret handshakes, this isn't the royal order of the holy mackerel."

"Don't be sore, Nance," Wentworth said. "I'll teach it to you some day, you're cool."

Nancy muttered something but cracked a smile.

"N-n-now let's get down to business of why you're here," Rick said with a belch. "You want acid right?"

"Yeah," Said Wentworth

"No, I'm here for the tea party," Nancy added with sarcasm.

"Then step right up, folks!" Stan added jovially.

So the they went to the kitchen area where Rick unlocked the standing freezer and took out four sheets of blotter acid. All them decorated with little devil horned smiley faces.

Wentworth's shoulders slumped when he saw it and Nancy seemed to tense up.

"Not cool, man," Wentworth sighed.

"That's it?!" Nancy squawked.

"L-L-look that's all I have ready," Rick said. "You know this is the shit, you know it's what your customers want. So stop complaining and pony up!"

Wentworth reached for his wallet, shaking his head. But Nancy's scowl deepened, she stiffened and growled. She marched up to Rick and got in his face:

"Look shitheels!" She shouted. "I saw you had more than that in freezer! It's my ass on the line here, I need this money! I got bills and rent!"

"That's not for p-p-public consumption, not yet," Rick said coolly. "Still in the testing stage. And s-s-since when do you pay rent? You squat in an abandoned factory."

"Hey, chill Nance, chill out," Wentworth said putting a hand on Nancy's shoulder.

She jerked out of his touch. "FUCK ALL OF YOU!" She shouted, she shivered slightly. "DON'T FUCKING STIFF ME ON THIS, I NEED MORE, I NEED TO MAKE MONEY!"

Stan stepped in front of her. "Hey, Nancy you know this is quality right?"

She was about to spit back a reply, but she shivered again, took a breath and seemed to calm down. "Yeah Stan, it is, strong and no ever has bad trips, or ends up in the hospital, but—"

Stan smiled. "It's simple then, Nancy! You charge the suckers more! After all it's quality, they are paying for the quality of it. You tell 'em if they want shitty fuck-you-up acid, they go to someone else. Trust me, they won't. You'll be rollin' in dough."

Nancy stared up at him, he could see the gears in her head turning, see her thinking about what he said. She slowly broke into a grin. "Yeah, that's it…!"

"Stan-the-MAN!" Wentworth chorused.

Stan laughed. "You know it!"

So his gift hadn't left him! His silver tongued bullshitting, had worked! He'd pulled all that out of his ass and it worked! Even Rick was smiling at him. Stan was wondering why Nancy was shivering in the spring time, though maybe it was because she was small and thin but it was odd.

"Okay then? Y-you two going to pay for this now?" Rick said. "I-i-it's q-q-quality, after all."

Wentworth nodded and pulled a roll from his wallet and handed it to Rick who began to count it.

Nancy took a wad from one the pockets her army jacket and gave it to Stan,who quickly tallied it up.

"Nancy!" Stan barked. "You're short some money!"

"That's all I got!" Nancy protested.

"If you have anything else, we'll take it," Rick added, giving her a look. "Annny-thing Nancy. You know our policy, drugs for drugs."

Nancy hesitated and then reached in army jacket and pulled out what looked like a small glass vial filled with…brown sugar? She put on the table. "Take it! It's pure, it's good!"

"Oooh Nancy given it up! Thanks!" Rick said.

"Why you so happy about brown sugar?" Stan asked puzzled for once.

All the rest of them burst out laughing and kept laughing for while.

"It ain't brown sugar, Stan!' Wentworth said. "It's brownstone!"

"Oh," Stan said still puzzled. "Right… what's the difference?"

More laughter.

"Stan, it's heroin. And it'll get us sky high." Rick said. "Thanks Nancy, I'll save this for a special occasion if it's as good as you say."

Rick gave the two dealers their sheets of acid and they left.

"You had more," Stan said as Rick was putting the vial of heroin into his lab coat. "I saw in the freezer too."

Rick's unibrow furrowed. "Palooka, I have more but as I said it needs to be tested, and I can't test on anyone"

"So get some chumps in here and test it," Stan sighed. "I'll watch 'em so they don't mess with your stuff. You know enough—"

"—this is special stuff, Palooka, I can't just be testing it on anyone, this the kind of thing Bell and Bishop are cooking up better in fact," Rick said with a belch. "Besides you remember those rules you agreed to right? What was rule number five?"

Stan's eyes widened and he felt panic rising inside of him. "LOOK, test anything else you want on me, not acid, I don't do acid!"

Stan turned and walked away trying to conceal the growing fear he felt.

"Oooh, did someone have a bad trip?" Rick said with as much tact as a punch to the nose.

"I don't want to talk about it." Stan growled.

Rick moved quicker than Stan thought and was in front of him, in his face. "I don't want to hear about what happened. But it's the rules, you want to stay here right?"

Stan glowered at him all furrowed brow and down turned mouth. "Yeah, yeah… maybe I need a bit of liquid courage. You'll be watching me the whole time right?"

Rick smiled. "Glad you c-c-came around, Punchy… be ready tonight..."

"Right, I gotta buy some more cigs. See ya later." Stan said and walked out of the warehouse.

He tried not to think about what was waiting for him back at the warehouse, or anything really. He bought the cigarettes, smoked them, read the paper in the library, and visited a guy he knew who promised to hook him up with a job in demolition. He tried not think of what happened back in the summer of '72 or Carla Mccorkle, but he did. He couldn't help it, and the dread of the experiment that night grew heavy inside of him. Him and Carla had been seeing each other since high school, neither of their parents really approved, his folks weren't crazy about him hooking up with a shiksa, she was Irish Catholic after all. He'd given her a promise ring senior year, they'd been on and off for the better part of a decade and a half. By 1972 the promise ring was tarnished by the years and the band was wearing thin, so was Carla's patience with him, though he didn't know it. He'd been busy: going into the vacuum business with his brother, running from the draft in Europe, and finally having a boxing career. Marrying Carla could wait and she would wait, right? She was a nice girl so she would. As far he knew she'd only been with him… right… of course! She was good girl! As for himself well… he was a guy…. she forgave him and besides he loved only her, that was what mattered right? The summer of '72 their relationship had been 'on' for him, he'd gotten his almost real diamond engagement ring from the pawn shop, but then she started talking about her new 'friend' some hippie asshole named Thistle Downe. She had been spending a lot of time with this character and Stan didn't like it. Carla had changed, she talked about hippie nonsense and hid her impressive legs in a pair of bellbottom jeans.

Of course that would stop when Stan popped the question, which he was going too. But that night something happened. She'd told him that Thistle Downe had 'turned her on to acid' and that it was really 'groovy'. Carla asked him to try it with her, saying that it would bring them closer than ever. And he'd thought why not? They'd smoked weed together and that was no big deal. So he popped this sugar cube in his mouth and it went to hell quickly. Yes, he saw rainbows, but they turned into snakes and tried to strangle him. Fourteen hours and a trip to a hospital with his brother later, the nightmare roller coaster was over. And so was everything with Carla. She ended up going out with Thistle Downe, almost immediately. Stan had tried to win her back, but…. driving Thistle Downe's van into a ravine, while raving about how the hippie freak had brainwashed her, didn't exactly drive Carla back into arms…. he might still have been tripping when that happened… Well Carla and Thistle Down (who got another van) went off to follow the Grateful Dead. All he had left was the almost diamond ring and acid flashbacks.

Now what? He was going to do it again?! Maybe this time it would be better, after all Rick was a scientist and he'd be monitoring the whole thing, with wires and machines that went beep, Stan would be fine… he was still scared shitless, which from what he understood was not the right mindset for dropping acid.

He bought a liter of scotch at a liquor store and took swigs from it on the way home. The liquor wasn't as good at quieting his fears as he hoped. He was little beyond slightly drunk but the visions of rainbow serpents danced in his mind, making his guts churn and his nerves quiver.

So he stumbled around the docks, trying to talk himself into it, until the air became chilly and the sun had set. He took one last gulp of the scotch, squared his shoulders, set his jaw and walked towards the warehouse he called home. He wasn't expecting the yellow light spilling from all windows and the funk music blasting. Normally he loved disco and funk but in his current frame of mind…it didn't seem right. Stan hesitantly pressed the buzzer:

"Yeah?"

"It's me…"

Stan heard the locks clicking open, then Rick grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him inside.

"Y-y—you smell like a distillery Punchy," Rick said. "That's—"

"—What I said I needed booze for this-"

"—it'll just make the trip last longer dumb-ass!"

"—shit."

"I know you're scared, I-I have a solution for that…" Rick said and he pulled out a ginormous blue glass bong, Stan had never seen before. "Do hits of this until you chill the fuck out. It's packed with a strain of hydroponic weed…that's really r-r-really potent. It'll get you wrecked."

Stan gave him a look, his brother was a scientist and while he didn't pay much attention to that crap, from what he knew a drunk and stoned test subject wasn't exactly… a good idea.

Rick glared back at him. "Yeah, yeah not accurate. I don't have the budget to get orderlies to strap you to a table to test it on you sober, Stan. D-d-don't say anything, it would happen."

Stan shrugged, sat on the couch and lit the bong, after a hit he was calm, two hits, his nerves had stopped jangling… three his lips went numb and after four he stopped caring about nearly anything… after five he was sure he was ready, but he wasn't sure if his legs still worked or who he was.

"Alright, gimme it." He said.

"Open your mouth Punchy," Rick said.

Stan did so and Rick placed one square of blotter acid on his tongue. He swallowed it down, it had a slightly bitter acrid taste. He blinked.

"Heh heh.. nothin' it's a dud."

"W-w-wait for it, Palooka."

Stan found himself staring at walls, as their edges become metallic and transparent shapes began to swim in front his of eyes. "Whoa… it's kickin' in."

"See I told ya Palooka."

The edges of the shapes became metallic rainbows, he could see the music playing, the waves of sound coming from the speakers, it wasn't terrible so far.

"Rick, this is great! I'm seeing all this amazing stuff!"

"So you're just hallucinating?" Rick sighed. The edges of Rick's body were glowing black and red what had Carla said about that, it was called an 'aura?'

"Isn't that what's supposed to happen?"

"Not with this stuff. I'm upping your dosage." Rick wandered away leaving trails of black and red and Stan stared at his hands he could see his pulse!

Rick was at his right ear.

"Wha?"

"I said give me your arm, Stan. You'll feel a slight pinch."

Stan offered up his right arm. He wasn't looking when Rick did something… that pinched. Things got intense after that.

"Oooh."

"Tell me what you see, Stan." Rick said in a voice that was very calm.

The walls melted away, all the walls, he could see into people's houses. The electric lights of each dwelling glowing and pulsing. So much movement and action… he could see things moving in the darkness outside of the light. They were unclean things, that meant nothing but harm, pressing themselves against the edges of the shadows as if the light would hurt them… waiting and hungry. He wanted to run and hide but he found he couldn't move, his legs were like lead weights. There was so many horrible, monstrous, things in the shadows. There was a great dark shape with a head like a worm with the torso of a man and it… had the body of a serpent…all black…He looked away through a white glowing window and he saw himself but it wasn't him… it was him but that him was sitting in Boca with Mom, eating. Through another glowing white window he saw another Stan, that wasn't him on tv winning the heavyweight championship! In yet another he was in a jungle dressed in camouflage. He told all of what he was seeing to Rick.

"It's working, Stan." Rick said. "You're seeing other realities, other versions of yourself."

"It is?" said Stan.

He made a mistake he looked into the darkness, there it was again the crawling monster! But it didn't look the same, instead he saw a dark skinned Pharaoh striding towards him, a sinister grin on his face. He looked away, but movement drew him back. The figure was all black but for the mouthless one eyed mask of glowing garish canary yellow shaped like a triangle, it smiled with no mouth and said in a cheery voice: 'See you soon Stan!'

HOW COULD IT SPEAK IT HAD NO MOUTH!

"Don't pay attention to that a-a-asshole," Rick said.

Rick was sitting in the darkness beside him.

"Wha? You're not supposed to be here!"

Rick grinned. "I couldn't let you have all the fun, Stan. This stuff can connect two m-minds Stan I had to test it out if that was true"

The thing in the triangle mask jigged. 'Well, well, well, Rick and Stan! This is a treat!'

It advanced on them, Stan felt the fear inside of him double, running over his nerves like cold spiders. "Rick! You just fucked us both!"

"Calm down," Rick said "In the mind a-a-a-nything is possible."

"Don't listen to him, he's lying you know how much he lies Stan." said the thing in the yellow mask.

'SHUT UP!" Rick pulled a flaming sword from his lab coat and sliced the monster in two.

It screamed, then re-formed and advanced. "You think that'll work it's cute!"

It's arm grew long and snakelike reaching for Rick's sword, which it snuffed out with a touch and broke into fragments.

"Anything huh?" Stan replied. He grinned, his brass knuckles appeared on his hands and each knuckle became a spike. "LEFT HOOK!" He bellowed and socked the monster in the jaw sending it ass over tea kettle.

Rick had a knife in his hand he pinned the monster to the void and began to stab it repeatedly, it spewed yellow blood. Stan kicked at it, until the body vanished.

The thing in the yellow mask was standing above them enormous and cackling: "Well, it's been nice! Smell you later!"

It vanished in clap of white lightening. The crackle of the record player and the noise of the docks made them blink and look around. The trip had taken all night and most of the morning, they were still coming down but att least they were not trapped in that void between worlds anymore. They kept seeing things for hours, transparent shapes with metal edges, walls that seemed to breath, but it was minor compared what had just happened.

Later, Stan and Rick were sitting at the formica table once again eating some soup. "What was that thing?" Stan asked. "And what did it mean?"

"I've seen it before, Stan. Whatever it wants isn't good, but I know one thing, it's name: Bill." Rick replied. "It just likes to fuck with people it doesn't mean anything. It's harmless can't enter r-r-reality."

"I hope I never see that thing again my life," Stan shuddered. "You're not going to sell that LSD, are you?"

Rick raised a unibrow and seemed to think for a minute, considering "No."


	6. Chapter 6

It all started with little things. Stan would drink all the milk, 'forget' and put the empty carton back in the fridge. He'd watch as Rick would go to fridge for the milk, pick it up to find an empty carton and then:

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Y-y-you think that's funny Punchy? Just you wait… just you wait..."

"What are you gonna do about it Brain?"

And it would seem nothing would happen. Rick would go make his inventions or do research at Harvard. Stan would leave for the day, after all he had that demolition job now. At around five Stan would come home sore as anything, shower, then collapse onto the sofa. He and Rick rarely shared the bed, it got too hot, also Rick stole the covers when it was cold and drooled. So that night Stan settled down on the couch, took out his contacts and fell into a deep sleep. Six in the morning an explosion of sound made him wake up with a scream.

"WHA?!"

Rick smiled at him from beside the speakers. "I told you I'd get you, Stan. Now listen to t-t-this! Nancy dropped off this tape i-i-t's revolutionary, Stan… it's—"

Stan listened, he heard a harsh sounding voice shouting obscenities over badly played electric guitar.

"—It's crap! What the hell is it, cuz it ain't music!"

"It's called punk, Stan, and it's brand new. You'd better get used to it, it's all I'm playing from now on."

Stan covered his ears with his hands and buried his head in the couch. The music continued on and Rick had begun to dance. Stan grit his teeth, tucked his knees up to his chest and tried not to pay any attention he figured the busting stereo would get him kicked him out.

A bleary hour later he went to the breakfast table, poured himself some coffee and poured whiskey and milk on his cereal. The whiskey was a happy accident but it got him going. He looked at the sugar shaker. He got an idea, a smile crept across his face. A little while later he was eating his very irish lucky charms Rick walked over still humming that awful punk tune… Stan watched as Rick picked up the sugar shaker and went to pour it in his coffee. As he tipped it over the lid slipped off spilling a ton of white crystals into Rick's coffee.

"AHAHAHAHA!" Stan laughed. "GOTCHA!"

"I-I-I should've known you'd try something like this, Stan." Rick grumbled, then he took a sip of the coffee, made a face and spit it out. "Salt?!"

Stan bellowed with laughter. "I am a prank master!"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Yuk it up, you'll never see the next one coming, Punchy."

"Bring it!"

"Oh you think you can handle it?!"

"Shit yeah!"

They were leaning over the table almost eyeball to eyeball. Rick bridged the distance and kissed Stan, biting his lip. Stan returned the gesture, biting down harder. Rick pulled back and laughed.

"You'll see, you'll see, Punchy."

"You're lip is bleeding a lot…"

"So?"

"You might want to wipe that up before heading to work."

Rick narrowed his eyes "No." Then he gave a slurp, sucking the blood back in his mouth, then he swallowed it.

"Eww." Stan shuddered.

He finished his whiskey cereal, coffee, and left for work. The boss was a slave driver who wanted them there bright and early. Five days had passed and things went back to normal, or as normal as they could with the mad science, drug deals, and constant playing of punk music. Stan destroyed one cassette but Nancy had given Rick spares, and Stan couldn't find where Rick had hidden them. Anyhow he was too tired from work to care much, just coming home to a beer and the tv was enough for him that week. Saturday afternoon, He'd gotten up for something or other, when Rick bumped into him while carrying a glass beaker full of some clear liquid.

"Hey watch it!" Stan said, his shirt had gotten drenched.

Rick's eyes went wide (wider than usual) and his mouth dropped open. "Oh fuck! Oh God, Stan! T-t-t-this is bad! Real bad! That was tetracholric acid! I'm so sorry."

"Tetra—wha?"

"A very powerful acid, but it acts very slowly." Rick said in earnest. "It can eat through bone and even cardiac muscle."

"SHIT! I GOTTA GET TO THE HOSPITAL!" Stan howled, ripping off his shirt.

"It starts slowly, i slight tingling in the affected area…" Rick said calmly.

Stan thought he felt a slight tingling on his chest. "Oh god…"

"Then it starts to itch and burn." Rick said.

Stan was lazily scratching his chest when Rick said this, then stopped. IT did itch and burn…"Oh fuck…!"

Rick gazed at him. "In a hour it'll eat through your skin, Stan then your muscle, bones and then you're heart, then you'll be dead!"

Stan shook Rick. "C'MON WE HAVE TO GET TO THE HOSPITAL!"

Rick sighed. "Too l-l-late for that…there is no official cure for it."

"I'M GOING TO DIE?!"

Rick paused and stared at Stan. "Well fructose and pectin has been known to halt the acid entirely in stages as early as this."

"Fructose? Pectin?! What are those things, I need'em! Give'em to me!"

"You're lucky Punchy, they can be found in one source…jam."

"Jam?!" Stan wasn't thinking his chest was itching and burning.. "We have that!"

He ran to the kitchen grabbed the jar of strawberry jam, Rick followed.

"What you do, Stan, is you rub it on the affected area."

Stan opened the jam took out a glob and began to smear his chest with it, cursing furiously as he was rubbing. He looked over at Rick, and saw.. Rick was smiling widely. He stopped.

"RICK SANCHEZ, YOU SKINNY BASTARD…!"

Rick laughed. "There is no such thing as tetracholric acid! It's just a tiny bit of bleach and water!"

"I'LL -I'LL… GET YOU!"

"Wash the jam off your chest first, Stan."

Stan glared, realizing that Rick was right, his revenge would have to wait. He did need a shower, also he needed to plan how exactly he'd get Rick back. Two days later he got a package from his Mother, along with a note asking why he didn't call or write. The note also said that she'd been clearing out his childhood home and found a box of his old things in the attic, so she sent them to him. There was some baseball cards, a deck of cards, some old warped board games, and a pair of lace up roller skates from his early twenties. He practiced the three card monte game with the cards, and examined the baseball cards which were all bent. None of the cards were of any value, and the skates… He recalled going to the roller disco with Carla on hot summer nights. He chuckled and grinned, of course! That's exactly how he'd get back at Rick. As per usual on Fridays they went bar hopping, but Stan held back, it took a lot of effort but he nursed his drinks, took it slow and only did shots when Rick demanded. By the end of the night Rick was plastered, but he was still mostly sober. Well more sober then Rick, who had long passed the point of being coherent or walking without help.

Rick's arm was slung over Stan's shoulder as they entered the warehouse, Rick couldn't stand on his own, so like many nights before Stan was helping Rick walk the short distance up to his bed.

"I-I love you Stan," Rick slurred. "You're my best, best friend…"

"Yeah, yeah you're drunk.." Stan mumbled.

"No… I really r-r-really love you," Rick said as they mounted the stairs.

He gave Stan a sloppy kiss that nearly toppled them.

"Geez! You want to kill us!" Stan grumbled.

"No n-n-n-no! I don't wanna die…" Rick burbled.

Stan opened the door to the bedroom, Rick kissed him again while mussing his hair. "Come on, Rick… you're too drunk."

"I need sex Stan… I need to get laid… c'mon…" Rick slurred.

Stan shoved Rick off his shoulder and onto the bed. He considered fucking him in this state, but Rick was already passed out. Stan chuckled, now it was time for his prank. He went down stairs and got the roller skates. Rick mumbled in his sleep as Stan took off his shoes and then his socks. He muttered something as Stan gently, slowly slipped the roller skates on and did up the laces. Now he just had to wait a few hours. When the sun rose, Stan was up, he had an air horn just for this. He went up those horrible creaky stairs back to the bedroom. Rick was still passed out snoring. Stan went up next to Rick's head and pressed the air horn.

"GAAAAHH!" Rick screamed as he woke up.

He went to stand, slid and fell hard on his ass.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!" Stan laughed.

Rick scowled at him and attempted to get back up, failed, then rubbed his back side.

"Okay, Stan, you proved y-y-your point now get me out of these things before I break my neck."

"Admit I've won!" Stan crowed.

"Untie the laces, Punchy," Rick grumbled trying to stand up yet again.

Stan helped him onto the bed, and untied the laces. Rick kicked him in the head, laughed and ran down the stairs calling "I'll never admit you w-w-won Palooka! BECAUSE I'M SO MUCH SMARTER THAN YOU, PUNCHY!"

Stan was holding his head and trying to stand by the time Rick had raced back to the bottom of the stairs and was doing a sassy dance. Of all the fucking nerve! Of all the shitty behavior!

"YOU SCRAWNY WASTE OF SKIN!" Stan hollered and gave chase. Rick had stopped to vomit in the sink, evidently the hangover had caught up with him.

Stan ran up and grabbed Rick, wrapping one arm around his friend's neck and the other around his waist, putting him in a choke hold.

"Oh geez," Rick mumbled and gasped.

"You give up?" Stan whispered.

"Y-yeah… let me breathe," Rick pleaded.

Stan released him and Rick reeled, gasping, he spun and collapsed at the formica table.

"You asshole, you brought it on yer self you know," Stan grumbled pouring two cups of coffee, one into a mug that read : UNIT and one marked TORCHWOOD.

Rick glared at him but took the coffee. "You know you should watch out Punchy. Y-you don't know your own strength."

They sullenly drank their coffee, Rick pulled out some coke from his lab coat and poured it on the table. He cut some lines. "Breakfast of champions, Punchy?"

Stan nodded, Rick did two lines, Stan did two lines. Now that woke you up, it was like being punched awake in the nose, in a good way. Stan took out the old chef's knife and began to sing to himself: "I've got all my fingers, the knife goes chop, chop chop…" As he played five finger filet.

Rick sighed: "Excellent way to start a weekend… loser."

Stan stuck the knife in the table and scowled at him. "Whattaya mean? YOU LOST!"

Rick got up, did that sassy ass dance and said: "Nope, I n-n-never admitted YOU were the winner. Fuck you Punchy…"

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Stan growled and got to his feet.

Rick ran and he gave chase, that skinny bastard, that arrogant prick! He'd get him and he'd show him! He'd show him alright! He was catching up when Rick stopped, turned, and wagged his ass at him…and a switch went off in Stan's hindbrain, when he got Rick… he'd fuck him up, and fuck him! Then Rick began to run again …Ohh that fucking RICK! Then the skinny freak ran up the stairs into the bedroom, where Stan followed, hating every creaky step on those fucking murder stairs. When he opened the door he was greeted by Rick's fist, he dodged that punch, but not the next. He pulled back and gave Rick the old left hook, then the right! Then the skinny bastard kicked him in the shins. He tackled Rick onto the bed, the other man's body hot and struggling under him. Rick glared at Stan defiantly and kissed him with shocking fierceness, all teeth and tongue. They kissed over and over again, lips bloody and growling.

"Are you as turned on as I am, Stan?" Rick said.

"…Yeah," Stan muttered and took off his pants and boxers.

Rick turned over, Stan helped remove Rick's clothing, flinging them in different places, he didn't care. He got out the lube, rubbed it on and flipped the skinny man over, shoving his dick in that tight hot hole. Stan thrust hard and rapidly, each stroke rewarded by some moan or growl from Rick. Both hands were wrapped around Rick's neck, just choking hard enough, but Stan was in control, even as the pleasure built, even as Rick ground his skinny hips against his groin. Or at least he thought he was, he moved one hand down to Rick's hard cock and jerked it as he fucked the skinny bastard, it was amazing, he was flying again, it was electric and alive and raw and real. He gave a deep thrust as he felt himself reach climax, he may have squeezed Rick's neck too tight then, because he could hear gagging and gasping. But Rick had already come twice. Pulling out afterward he rolled off and looked at the other man. Hair mussed more than usual, eyes glazed, and red marks around his neck, Rick was actually smiling.

"F-f-fuck you," Rick murmured at him in an affectionate tone.

"I won…" Stan said with a smile, scooting to the side of the bed to get a cigar and a lighter.

He took a drag inhaling, feeling like god or a king.

"No, I did." Rick said.

Stan was still hard when Rick mounted him and began to ride him for round two, Stan was about to argue back…but the feeling of it overtook him and he just took another drag and laughed. Maybe he'd let Rick have this one.


	7. Chapter 7

The bruises on Rick's neck were fading and more often than not Stan found himself sleeping in the same bed as Rick, even though he stole the covers and drooled. Not for that of course, but because there was nothing better then getting a bj in the morning or having sex to start the day. Usually it was so early when it all went down that Stan would roll over and go back to sleep again and wake up to a puddle of drool on the pillow next to him with no Rick. These days Rick seemed to be always working on something or other. Stan would leave for work and Rick would still be there welding something or making some robot. He never seemed to go to work.

"Did you get fired?" Stan asked one evening over a meal of burgers and fries from a fast food place.

"No, Bell and Bishops' research is a dead end, I quit, they are going about the whole thing ass backwards," Rick said.

"So you have no job." Stan said sipping his soda.

"Yeah…but don't -don't get your panties in a knot." Rick replied stealing a handful of fries. "I own the fucking warehouse and I have another position lined up."

"Good," Stan said and munched on his hamburger.

"The people I'm going to be working with they -they are on the right track, what I should have been doing all along…." Rick said emptying his flask into the soda cup.

Stan wasn't interested in the rest of what Rick was saying, it was full of techno babble, the kind of thing his brother might say, and that bored Stan to tears. "Yeah, uh-huh, that's… science-y… right?"

Rick put down his burger. "Ooh sorry I'm boring you, Punchy."

Stan was stealing the last of Rick's fries and had quickly stuffed them all in his mouth. "hmmph-mmmfh…"

"But-but enough pleasantries, let's get fucked up."

Stan swallowed his mouthful of fries. "Heheh. That's what I like to hear."

With a sweeping motion Rick cleared off the 'coffee table' and went to get the big long mirror they did lines off sometimes.

"Aren't we going to hit a few bars first?" Stan asked.

Rick went off to get a mirror.

"N-no because this is special occasion, tomorrow we are going to New York City and we are gonna spend the weekend getting wrecked." Rick said.

"This new thing, it's in New York?" Stan asked.

"No, but I'm sick of bean town, Punchy." Rick said. "It's in a place called Arkham, I'm moving."

Rick put the mirror down on the coffee table and removed a straight razor from his lab coat and took out the vial of brown powdery heroin from another pocket. He began to cut it very finely with the razor, making needle thin lines on the mirror.

"What about me?" Stan asked.

"Well you got a job, Stan. Find a place to rent if you wanna stay here. I'm not your boyfriend." Rick said. "I'm not your keeper."

"Yeah, I know… but do you need a roommate?" Stan asked.

Rick gave him a long hard look and shrugged. "If you want to… I'm not gonna stop you, Palooka."

"Those itty-bitty things gonna get me high… heh." Said Stan.

"You cut lines of horse much thinner than coke, Punchy. You wanna try it?" Said Rick.

"Yeah, why not?" Stan began to lower his head.

"Whoa, whoa… me first. You're gonna get sick."

"How you do know?"

"Because that's what happens when you do it the first time."

"How you do know?"

"Because that's what happens when you do it the first time."

Rick did a line first and sat back. He seemed to uncoil, all the tenseness and energy that Stan usually associated with Rick vanished, his eyes grew sleepy. So Stan lowered his head and did a line, he felt the rush you get with snorting anything and an odd salty taste in the back of his mouth. At first nothing, then a wave of relaxation came over him, an intense feeling of happiness, warmth and a sort of numbness, it was better than the best weed. He didn't care about anything suddenly. However his guts weren't having any of this peace and love bullshit apparently because he had to vomit. He got up and walked the short distance to the kitchen sink, which seemed a bit like an epic journey, holding it down was a challenge and he puked up all the fast food he'd been enjoying earlier. He walked back to the couch where Rick was sprawled out now.

"Wow." He said.

"Told ya, Punchy." Rick replied slowly.

Rick wrapped his arms around Stan and they kissed, in that odd slow numb world it was like being in a warm bath, but at the same time Stan could hardly feel the other man's lips and tongue against his. The high began to dissipate and they both did the other line. Then came the stomach cramps, again… and the uncontrollable itchy feeling like insects crawling on his skin. So it would take time to do another pin thin line.

"How does this work… there doesn't look like much of it," Stan mused.

"It's strong, Nance was right. The good stuff." Rick sighed contentedly.

They ended the evening in bed, naked and humping away, nothing was happening though it was like a sensation through a heavy sheet, though they both were hard it was difficult to get off. They used hands and mouths on each other but nothing much happened, eventually they fell asleep.

The next day Stan woke up groggy and nauseous. Rick was already awake, moving around the darkened bedroom while Stan stared at him blearily for a few moments.

"Get up and get packed our train leaves in two hours." Rick said, lighting a cigarette in the gloom.

"Oy," Stan sighed, rubbing his head. "Give me time to wake up. I feel terrible."

"So? Get packed, we're going to be there a day and half you need to look s—s-sharp, you need to look sharp, Stan." Rick said and took a drag from the cigarette.

Stan got up, stretched, itched, showered, got dressed, and packed his clothing, trying to go fast but feeling the way he did and with Rick breathing down his neck it was hard. However they managed to get a cab and get to the station with time to spare. The train ride was quiet, Stan got some coffee from the dining car and Rick stared out the window silent and sullen the whole trip down. They arrived at Grand Central Station, who else was there to greet them but Nancy.

"Heeeey, you two made it!" She called out cheerily. She had done her now ice blue hair in a mohawk, her make up had gotten darker, her nose was still pierced by a safety pin, despite her outrageous appearance she seemed to have shrunk, her eyes looked sunken and she was so skinny she made Rick look chubby.

"Nance, How's New York been treatin' you!?" Rick said.

She gave a sniff and a shiver. "Good, Good."

At this point Stan realized why he hadn't seen Nancy for the better part of a month. "You moved here?"

"Yeah, doofus," She said with a joking casualness. "New York City is where it's at. Glad I finally got you two to come down. I missed youse guys."

"N-Nance found us a hotel, that's got a prime location near all the hotspots." Rick said.

"Well near the only one that matters," Nancy corrected. "Rick you gotta go to CBGB, a band called The Ramones is playing there tonight."

"What kinda music do they play?" Stan asked.

"The good kind," Nancy said.

"Oh," Stan sighed. "That punk crap."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to Punchy," Rick said. "This is a big city there are l-l-lots of things to do."

They took the subway down to the east village. The hotel Nancy had gotten them was a rat trap called the 'blue diamond.' The man at the front desk was behind plate glass and Rick had to slide the money through a tray. Honestly the guy looked surprised that they were paying for the whole night. It a was double room, that fooled no one, even Nancy had long ago figured out what Stan and Rick were up too. Stan sorta wished he'd packed a sleeping bag so he didn't have to touch the sheets on the bed. There was a cockroach on it's back dying in the tub in the bathroom, and unflushed cigarette butts yellowing in the toilet bowl.

"Hey," Stan said emerging from the bathroom. "Why can't we stay with you?"

"Because," Nancy said. "Rick knows why," and glared at him.

Rick rolled his eyes. "W-w-what? Nance, you still mad about that? It was just a small fire."

"Yeah JUST a small fire." Nancy sighed. "Which turned into a bigger one, okay you ding-dongs. I've got other things to do. See you at 9:00 pm."

After Nancy left Rick looked at Stan, took out his flask and taking a swig said: "H-H-hey Punchy what do you say we 'christian' this room?"

Stan smiled and shrugged. "Haven't millions of people done it here already?"

Rick was removing his coat and shirt. "Yep, but they weren't us, Stan."

Stan felt a prickle of lust course through him. "Okay, why not."

That evening Rick and Nancy smoked their cigarettes and did lines of coke to prepare for the show. Stan got ready too, he wasn't going to a punk club to see music he hated, he was headed to the disco. He'd asked around, read a magazine and found a good one. When he stepped out of the bathroom, already in his new white leisure suit, white platform shoes, gold chain shining, and over it his leather jacket with his wallet in one pocket knuckle dusters in the other. He felt like a million bucks.

Nancy and Rick looked at him, looked at each other and bust out laughing.

"Yeah yeah, yuk it up knuckleheads, I look great." Stan remarked.

"I'm going to pretend I don't know you tonight Punchy," Rick said.

"Oh man, Stan's a disco doof," Nancy said with a laugh.

"Hey, I look cool, I'm sorry you two have no taste." Stan said.

"You meeting anyone?" Rick asked.

"Naw, I'm solo all my old friends don't 'like' or 'trust' me anymore." Stan grunted. "You borrow a few dollars from some people and suddenly they become assholes."

"Did you pay it back, Stan?" Nancy asked.

"Did they know you were borrowing it or did you just take it, Palooka?" Rick asked.

"Hey leave me alone," Stan rolled his eyes, though it was true.

He sat down and did coke, just a little, just enough so he'd be ready for the night. So they went their separate ways. There was a velvet rope and a line with a bouncer in the front. Stan had the cover charge and was considered to look cool enough to go in. He felt good, just high enough to have fun but not too high to be a total asshole. He danced for a while, some of the hottest chicks he'd seen were eyeing him up. He got a harvey wallbanger and surveyed the scene. He was deciding which of the ladies he'd talk to when he suddenly had the urge to piss. He finished his drink, put the minimum down for it and went off to the men's room. Finding the men's room empty he shrugged, unzipping he headed to the urinal and began to piss. Stan heard the door open, but ignored it. A stranger had stepped up to use the urinal beside him. Stan felt the man's eyes on him before he turned to see the man. The stranger was huge, a brute with muscles and a ginger handlebar mustache. He was grinning lecherously, predatorily at Stan.

"I like what you've got there," The stranger said. "You wanna fuck in over there?"

The man nodded his head at one of the stalls.

Stan felt a shiver of fear and his hair prickle on the back of his neck. However Stan finished pissing and gulped down his fear. He pushed it deep, deep down. Looked at the mustached stranger square in the face and said: "Naw, not my thing."

He tucked in his junk and zipped up, started to step away from the urinals towards the sinks.

The stranger stepped in front of him blocking his path. "Don't be such a fucking tease, I saw you dancing, you ain't straight, I'm gonna fuck that ass of yours and you're gonna like it."

Stan put one hand in the pocket of his jacket, he put his fingers through the brass knuckles. "I told ya, leave me alone."

The stranger put one hand on Stan's shoulder pushing him backwards and another hand over Stan's crotch. "No, you're gonna like it. I'm gonna make you like it."

There was anger and disgust bubbling away inside of Stan now, so strong he could taste the bitter hotness inside of him. With one swift movement he knocked the stranger's hand off his crotch and brought his other arm back up, ready to punch the asshole in the face. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The stranger caught Stan's fist, his own huge hand, blocking the punch. He grinned. "You got some fight in you, I like that."

Then he grabbed Stan's other arm, Stan fought to break free from the stranger's iron grasp but he couldn't. There was no other option, he lowered his head and rammed it into the stranger's own. The stranger was knocked back, temporarily winded. Stan reached in his other jacket pocket and put on the brass knuckles. When the stranger came at him again, he was ready. He gave the fucker the old one two. The fear was replaced with anger and triumph. His blood was up, and dodging as the man lunged at him he growled: "You want a piece of me, asshole!? COME and get it!"

That was when the stranger grabbed him by the hair and dragged him towards the sinks. Stan heard the crack of cartilage as the stranger rammed his face into the edge of the basin twice. But Stan slipped the Stranger's grip, and though his nose was bleeding he punched and kicked the bastard. He rammed his fists and feet into the other man over and over again! The Stranger laughed, got up and charged him. Stan dodged and then slammed the stranger through the men's door. The fight burst out onto the disco proper. Stan was over the stranger punching his hateful face as he lay on the ground panting and yelling something. The music had stopped, Stan looked up and saw two bouncers coming at him. He reached down, grabbed the prone man's wallet and ran. With the adrenaline pumping he got out into the street wiped the blood off his face and took the subway back to the blue diamond.

Stan was sitting up watching the test pattern when Rick came back whistling. When he saw how Stan looked, sitting there in his still rumpled blood stained leisure suit and sporting a broken nose, the song died on his lips.

"H-h-hey what what happened to you?" Rick asked.

"Not gonna talk about it." Stan growled.

"Fine," Rick grunted. "But I have some s-s-s-stuff for that nose of yours."

"Not going to the hospital." Stan mumbled.

"You don't have too." Rick said.

He reached into his luggage and pulled out a syringe and after more rummaging a vial of blue stuff. He hummed as he filled the syringe. Then walked up to Stan and plunged the syringe into the side of his broken nose. There was an odd sensation of ..of…crinkling or un-crinkling? Re-molding? Stan felt his face, his nose was no longer tender, no longer busted.

"How'd you do that?" He asked Rick.

"Science," Rick rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't even begin to understand. It involves geckos."

"Oh," Stan. "Yeah, probably wouldn't care either."


	8. Chapter 8

Stan woke up to the sounds of the shower running in the bathroom. He felt like hell again, he was sure he had cracked a rib or something, and ached all over. Oh well, better get cleaned up. Getting up, he stretched and walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door:

"When you gonna be done?"

The reply came, "Hey, Punchy… why don't you join me?!"

Stan sighed, "Not now, I don't feel like it."

"Then... then I don't feel like getting out!"

Stan grumbled to himself, Rick was probably using up all the hot water in there. He turned on the tv and watched as he waited for Rick to get out of the shower. He ached, he was sore all over like an old man, also he was pretty groggy. Finally Rick left the bathroom, towel over his waist and another one on his head.

"All free, your turn," Rick said pulling off the bottom towel and flinging it on the bed, and rubbing his head with the other one.

Stan took the shower, surprisingly there was hot water. The hot water had done wonders for the various aches and soreness. Afterward he looked over himself in the bathroom mirror, a few bruises and a black eye. He popped some aspirin and put in his contacts. Rick was watching a cop show on the tv, when he stepped out of the bathroom, still in the buff.

"Get dressed we need to have some breakfast." Stan ordered.

Rick looked up at him from the bed and shrugged. "Hey, I got this idea… what if… there was this cop show and the one detective he had like … baby legs? Like he's half baby, all … uncoordinated and stuff.. but then! He gets paired with this other cop who has regular legs! It would be great!"

"What are you on, this morning, Rick?" Stan asked.

"Nothin' I just think it would ya know be a cool show. I got this other idea, how about a duck who's like Sherlock Holmes and solves crimes, Stan." said Rick.

"It would never work," said Stan.

Rick shrugged. "It might. You never know."

Stan shook his head and they got dressed.

Stan took Rick to this place on the lower east side, in Stan's opinion best bagels in the city, his Dad used get bagels from them. The coffee wasn't so bad, either. Rick surprised him getting a bialy.

"How does a guy like you even know what those are?" Stan asked.

Rick said, "I've been in this city before, when I was teenager I lived at a boarding house during the summers."

"Oh, alright." Stan said. Later maybe, if he felt up to it, he'd got to Katz's for some chopped liver, maybe not.

"Anyhow Punchy," Rick said taking a bite of his bialy. "W-w-we are wasting time being sober."

Stan laughed. "Yeah…"

In his mind he kept going back to the night before and the guy in the disco. Maybe getting wasted would help get rid of this odd, naked and weak feeling he had. Yep, that was probably just the ticket. When they got back to the hotel Nancy was waiting for them outside.

"Hey guys," She said there was something anxious in her tone. "Stan what happened to you?"

"Nothin'" Stan grumbled.

"Fine be that way," she said rolling her eyes. "I got it, Rick."

"G-g-good, thanks for coming through for me Nance, knew I could count on you." Rick said.

"Yeah, let's get in your room," She mumbled.

They went back up to the room. Nancy took out a small glass jar filled with brown powder from her jacket. Rick cleaned off the table and she began to cut those thin, thin lines of it. Nancy took the first one, then Rick, finally Stan did his line. OH, that wonderful, blissful feeling of being warm, happy, and so high. It didn't seem to last that long though, so soon they were cutting more lines and snorting it again. After a while there was much less of it, they laid sprawled out on the beds. Rick was in between them with one arm looped around Nancy and the other around Stan. He turned to Stan and slowly, ever so slowly kissed him sloppy and wet. Then he turned to Nancy and kissed her, oddly she seemed into it. Then Stan kissed Nancy, she tasted like cigarettes but her lips were so soft. For awhile they tangled together kissing and humping in drugged out bliss. Then Nancy's top came off, she was so skinny underneath. Her breasts were funny, freckled and a small b-cup, almost a handful but not quite. Soon all of them were undressed. Nancy was taking turns sucking on their cocks, as they were kissing eachother over her head. Then she was in between them, Rick's cock in her mouth, and for the first time in five months Stan found himself, having sex with a woman. At first it was good, she was hot and so wet. After a while it seemed to go almost numb and she was complaining about being sore. So he pulled out. Still hard, he lay on the bed as Rick gave him a lazy handjob and Nancy was still sucking on Rick's cock. Rick did something, he took a wet finger and slipped it inside. Normally Stan would object, but at the moment he was too high. And then he felt it wiggle inside of him, the drugs, the hand job, the fingering… it was good… so intense… but he couldn't come. Not even if he wanted too. At one point someone had turned on the television, it babbled on in the background, none of them were paying attention. Then they weren't touching, they weren't doing anything but letting themselves count down, and they slept.

Stan woke up groggy and sick to the blast of an air horn.

"..fuck you." he mumbled and put the pillow over his head.

The pillow was ripped out of his grip and tossed aside. He looked up at the blurry face of Nancy.

"Rick wants you up," She said with a shrug. "We need to go out and have some fun."

"…didn't we just do that?" he muttered.

"NO PUSSING OUT STAN!" Rick shouted from across the room.

"nnngh," Stan muttered but sat up.

His eyes itched, the contacts were still in them. He stretched, yawned hugely and got to his feet. Rick tossed him the flask.

"H-h-here, this'll get you started Punchy." Rick said.

Stan unscrewed the top and took a swig of the rotgut, it burned and tasted like an ashtray. He shook his head and blinked, he was ready. "Okay, let's paint the town, red!"

"That's it!"Nancy said.

He got himself cleaned up, shaved, put on some nice clothes and they went out, hitting the bars with such a determination that it was surprising. The night dissolved getting blurrier and blurrier as it spun out of control, until it's self memory disappeared into a void. The last thing Stan could remember was pushing a sailor.

Stan woke up feeling like a pig shit in his head, his head pounding and his stomach seething. The place he was sleeping was cold, hard, and stunk of urine and disinfectant. he could hear the metallic clink of keys.

He had a bad feeling, he was in the drunk tank at some police station. He opened his eyes…yep. Rick was sitting up beside him, looking worse than usual if that was possible… staring blankly at the opposite wall.

"…how did we?" Stan began

"…I dunno…" Rick finished. "shut up… shut … your face.. it's too loud…"

The door swung open. An officer was standing there. "Well Mr. Smith and Dr. Figgis you're bail has been paid, you're free to go." The police officer said the word with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"It has?" Stan asked.

"Yep." the police officer said.

Rick got up nonchalantly and walked out the door. Stan followed him, hungover and bemused.

In the lobby Nancy was waiting, standing next to her was a stooped elderly man. Leaning on a golden tipped cane, he had a thick mop of white hair and wore a well tailored suit of canary yellow. An eccentric, Stan dismissed the man in his mind. Until he spoke, "Ah, Mr. Smith and Dr. Figgis, glad to meet you, in the flesh."

"What?" Stan looked puzzled. "Look mister I've never seen you before in my —"

...but there was something in this man's way of speaking that was hauntingly familiar, Stan just couldn't quite piece together what it was about this guy.

Rick grabbed Stan and put a hand over his mouth. "T-T-THIS, Stan, is Mr. Flavius William King, he's the guy providing the funding for the research, I'm gonna do. A-a-a-also he was nice enough to bail us out, so stop acting like an asshole."

Stan blinked and then tried to grin and the man. "Thanks." He offered his hand to Mr. King. The man looked at it with eyes obscured by bangs for a pause. As if a switch flicked, Mr. King took Stan's hand and shook it vigorously, bone-crushingly hard, and his nails dug into Stan's skin.

"Yeah, you're welcome! I can't have my star researcher and his 'best buddy'…" Mr. King gave a salacious wink. "..in jail when I need you guys so much."

Stan withdrew his smarting hand. He wondered why Mr. King needed him, Rick yeah… but he was nothing to this weird old coot.

There was a chirpy edge to his voice, a cadence that Stan didn't like…how did Mr. King know they were more than friends?

Maybe the guy was a fruit as well as an eccentric… oh well. Rick was talking to the guy, thanking him in his stuttering awkward way.

After walking out of the police station Rick hailed a cab. Mr. King smiled to them as they got in, saying one last thing to Rick and laughed.

Nancy glared at them as she wedged herself in between them. "That Flavius King guy? Seriously creepy."

"Yeah," Rick admitted. "I-I- never met him in person… he just, ya know a voice on the other end of the phone, Nance. But he's got the money to fund some things I want to do."

"He told me I'd die six months from now, I'd O.D. What the fuck?!" Nancy said with a shudder. "Also hit on me… I think he said... he'd never been inside a lady with hair like mine… kept staring at me, and grinning."

"Well he got us out of the shit," Rick said. "Which is why I gave you his number Nance, last night before we fought those sailors."

"We did?" Stan was roused from his stupor.

"Yeah you did." Nancy rolled her eyes. "There were a half dozen of 'em but after the bikers, you guys felt you could take on the world."

"We fought bikers?" Stan put his hand on head.

"No, ya had a drinking contest with 'em and they were so impressed they let you two stay in the bar." Nancy said.

The cab pulled up at the Blue diamond and Rick paid the taxi driver.

Outside the hotel Nancy reached into her jacket and pulled out Stan's knuckle dusters. "Aren't you glad you gave these to me before the cops got you?"

"I thought of that?" Stan was amazed at the black out drunk state he'd been in that night.

"Yeah, I was surprised, you can put it away like Rick does and he's an alky." Nancy grinned.

"I'm sorry about yesterday…I was high and it was stupid…"

"No," She shook her head. "I wanted it, besides don't you think I haven't fooled around with Rick before?" Nancy said.

Rick returned from paying the tax driver. Nancy reached in her other pocket: "Here's your thingy, doofus."

She handed Rick a small silvery gun and Rick smiled. "Great y-y-you're just amazing Nancy."

"See you two later," Nancy said and walked off.

So they packed and went back to Boston, both nursing hangovers with coffee and aspirin.


End file.
